


Take Me to War

by cacowhistle



Series: Thus Always to Tyrants [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Canon-Typical Violence, also pogtopia. i miss that too, daemon AU, i also will be updating the tags as i go, if not. more graphic, kinda canon divergent. pretty canon divergent actually but like later on, we're going back to the l'manburg revolution era because fuck i miss it you guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle
Summary: The seeds of revolution are planted and nurtured, and Wilbur Soot is the one that will bring the seed to harvest.(All the while, he bares his soul, and she is just as bitter and reckless in her survival.)or;the obligatory daemon au
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Thus Always to Tyrants [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136786
Comments: 22
Kudos: 63





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> the first few notes of the melody are written.
> 
> (tws for this chapter: smoking)

Wilbur is aware of many facts.

One: every person has a daemon, a reflection of their soul in animal form. Wilbur’s is named Eurydice, and she is currently in the shape of a pretty white fox like the snow that surrounds his home, which leads to the next fact. Two: the Antarctic Empire is very cold, and very big, and Wilbur adores it, despite all of the rules. Three: children are not allowed in the meeting room unless Phil says so.

And four: Wilbur does not much care for rules.

“We’re going to get in trouble,” Eurydice says, and Wilbur rolls his eyes as he peeks through the crack in the doorway, nineteen years old.

“Only if we get caught.” There’s no-one inside, so he quietly pushes the door open further, ushering Eurydice through.

“We’re going to get caught,” she mutters, tossing her head, ears pricking. Wilbur allows himself to listen as well, but there are no footsteps or voices close enough to be a danger.

“You worry too much,” Wilbur insists, beginning to climb the windowsill, making his way up towards the rafters.

“Are you just leaving me down here?” Eurydice calls, tail lashing behind her. 

Wilbur puts a finger to his lips, before muttering: “You’re the one who can fly!”

She rolls her eyes, but then there’s a small little mockingbird fluttering up to the rafters, the two of them tucking themselves into a particularly dark corner. Wilbur adjusts his position, keeping his feet up. There is a ledge above the window, hidden by the curtains, and he slowly begins to scoot over to it.

“Why do you even want to listen in, anyways? I’m sure if you just _asked_ to sit in on the meeting...” Eurydice murmurs, perched on his shoulder. Wilbur grins.

“It’s empire business, why don’t _you_ want to listen?”

His daemon huffs, flicks his ear with a wing. “I don’t _care_ about empire business.”

“Well, you--” Wilbur cuts himself off at the sound of approaching footsteps, and hurriedly ducks behind the curtain, pulling his knees to his chest. It’s harder to see, from here, but there’s more cover, at least.

Through the slit in the curtains, he sees Phil enter first, followed closely by Technoblade. Their daemons follow behind, the snowy owl Mairead landing on Phil’s shoulder, Max trotting along on Techno’s heels, their head held high. Wilbur stares at Technoblade, eyes wide, startled.

“Is he supposed to be here?” Wilbur whispers. Eurydice shifts nervously.

“Well, _we_ aren’t,” she murmurs back.

He wants to snap back, but Phil is speaking and everything else goes forgotten as Wilbur leans in, ears pricking with interest.

“You’ll be fine, mate. I promise. You’re going to do fine.”

“What if they decide I can’t go, Phil?” The last time Techno sounded this nervous, he’d failed a test, and Wilbur had comforted him before helping him tell Phil. He remembers it rather clearly--the shake in Technoblade’s voice, the way his hands kept working their way through Max’s fur as though the wolf were the only thing keeping him grounded.

Wilbur peers past the curtains a little further, and the look on Techno’s face confirms his suspicions. He’s nervous. What is he nervous for?

“Techno, you are one of the most capable fighters in this entire empire,” Phil says, voice low and firm. “If they don’t pick you for this expedition, they’re fuckin’ stupid, alright?”

He hears Techno’s slow, unsteady sigh, rather than see it. Wilbur glances at Eurydice, eyebrows raised. She stares back, seemingly unimpressed. He returns his attention to his father and his brother--Techno is rocking back onto his heels, then forward onto the balls of his feet, more agitated than Wilbur thinks he’s ever seen him. Phil is adjusting his cloak, brushing back Max’s fur, making sure both Techno and his daemon look presentable. There are footsteps sounding in the hall outside, and Wilbur draws back further into the corner. Now is the time to listen, instead of watch.

He hears the door open, Phil welcoming a variety of voices into the room. Wilbur recognizes a few as leaders who have been in this room before.

He recognizes one of them as Dream.

Dream, Techno’s… friend, he thinks. He’s never been sure of their relationship--Techno’s always been neutral on the matter, but Dream treats it like they’re friends, and Wilbur has never been able to get a good read.

He peeks past the curtain to try and spot the other adventurer. He’s dressed in something akin to hunting gear, if not a little nicer for the occasion, mask clipped to his belt, rather than on his face. Wilbur doesn’t see his face often--he always shows up to the palace masked, to draw Techno away for one of their adventures. He’s young and handsome and a little too captivating in a way reminiscent of Wilbur’s own magical nature.

He doesn’t like it. He’s never really been a fan of Dream, which says a lot about Dream, considering the company Wilbur tends to keep--Schlatt and Sally and whatnot. 

“We just aren’t comfortable sending another minor on this expedition,” a voice says, and Wilbur’s heart sinks.

“He’s barely younger than Dream,” Phil argues, “and just as capable.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s dangerous,” Dream says, voice smooth, “and I doubt you want one of your kids dying out in the field. I can take this one, Phil. I promise.”

“I was younger than you are when I founded this empire,” Phil snaps right back, voice cold. The unspoken _Techno was too_ hangs over both of them. Wilbur can’t help the grin that spreads across his face.

“The decision’s final,” he hears Grian say, softly. “We don’t want to risk his life, Phil. I understand it’s a brilliant opportunity for him, but it’s too dangerous.”

“I can handle it,” Techno finally speaks, quiet yet overpowering the room in seconds. “It wouldn’t be my first time exploring dangerous ruins.”

Wilbur hears Grian sigh, and he knows it’s final. “These are more dangerous than any other ones we’ve sent you and Dream to explore. We need a more specialized team, this time. I’m sorry, both of you. But Techno, you need to sit this one out.”

“That’s so unfair,” Wilbur whispers to Eurydice, who hums her agreement.

He freezes when he sees Max’s ears twitch, and the wolf lifts their gaze--meeting Wilbur’s eyes directly.

_Shit._

The wolf stares for barely a second before lowering their gaze again, and Wilbur lets out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding as they return their attention to the rest of the room, not drawing other eyes towards his little hiding spot. The rest of the meeting goes by in a blur, and as soon as the last noble leaves and Techno and Phil have presumably returned to their own rooms, Wilbur is dropping down from the rafters and racing down the hall to find--

A hand catches his arm and wrenches him back before he can turn down the hallway to Technoblade’s room, and Wilbur yelps. A familiar clawed hand claps itself over his mouth.

Techno picks him up and tosses him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“What the fuck,” Wilbur splutters, and Techno snorts.

“Stop spying on important meetings,” he says, flatly, ever the more responsible one, despite Wilbur being three years his senior. “Also, Dream’s taking me to the ruins anyways, and if Phil asks, I’m with Skeppy tonight. Got it?”

“Sure,” Wilbur says, “can you put me down?”

“Where am I tonight?”

“With Skeppy.”

Techno dumps Wilbur back onto his feet unceremoniously, and Wilbur stifles his laughter with one hand. “Don’t get killed, yeah?”

That earns a bark of laughter. “I never die.”

Wilbur hums, dragging Techno by the wrist into his room before collapsing backwards onto his bed. “You always say that.”

There’s a few moments of quiet, and Wilbur savors them, hand still resting on top of Technoblade’s wrist. Eurydice, now in fox form, sits prim and proper at the edge of the bed. Max leaps up beside her with a huff, and Techno sits next to Wilbur, raising his eyebrows. Wilbur has a dozen different things he’d like to say about Dream, and Techno’s habit of sneaking out, but he supposes it’d be hypocritical of him, considering… well, just considering. Techno seems to know he wants to talk, though.

“Something on your mind?” He asks, quiet.

Wilbur hums. Then, decisively: “I don’t like how much time you spend with Dream.”

He feels the way Techno stiffens, beside him. “I don’t like how much time you spend with Schlatt,” Techno shoots back, tone ice-cold, and Wilbur can’t help the way he freezes.

It’s one of those moments where snide remarks can turn into a screaming match. Wilbur is unsure of which route he wants to take--a dozen different crude and spiteful snapbacks are rising in his throat, waiting on the tip of his tongue to come spilling out. He wants to call Techno a dozen different names, a multitude of hypocrisies, wants to snap and snarl that maybe he should deal with his own fucked up friendships before he starts telling other people how to deal with theirs. He wants to shout, to break something, to _scare_ someone. To actually be fucking heard, for once, instead of talked over and rudely interrupted and...

Wilbur takes a deep breath, and chooses to disengage instead. _It isn’t fucking worth it._

He sits up, slowly, drawing his hand away from Techno’s and gathering Eurydice into his arms as he stands. The air is charged, now, and he does not look Technoblade in the eye as he moves towards the door. He can feel his eyes boring holes into his back.

“Have fun on your adventure,” Wilbur says, voice clipped. “Don’t let him slit your throat this time.”

“Don’t come home drunk tonight,” Techno says, just as tightly, “and I’ll think about it. What would Tommy think?”

Wilbur slams the door behind him.

_(He will forever regret this argument, their parting words before everything changed for the worse.)_

And if he goes to his room and fumes and shatters a mirror, well, that’s just between him, the gods, and Eurydice, isn’t it? He slams through his drawers, searching for something, _anything_ to take the edge off--he’s run out of any alcohol he’s smuggled out of the kitchens. He grabs a pack of cigarettes and soul sand and his lighter and wrenches the window open, taking hold of his guitar with far more care. Eurydice follows him out onto the castle rooftops. He settles on a particularly flat spot, and struggles to light the cigarette.

He inhales, slow and shaky, the blue glow of soulfire illuminating his face in the dim light of the sunset. The soulfire and smoke is a poor replacement for Schlatt’s warmth, but it’s enough to keep his chest warm and aching in the same way.

_(“Schlatt wants me to run with him,” he admits, breathlessly, setting a bit of his soul sand supply aflame. The blue glow flickers and dances in front of his face, and casts Techno in a bright cyan light. “He wants me to just go with him. See the world.”_

_The fact that he wants to, desperately wants to, goes unspoken._

_Technoblade leans against his shoulder, hands curling into fists as he grips the hem of Wilbur’s sweater. “Dream wants me to start an SMP with him,” he whispers, burying his face in Wil’s shoulder. It’s responsibility and running away tenfold, planting roots in a garden their father would disapprove of._

_“I think you’d like that,” Wilbur says._

_“Yeah.” Techno sounds scared. “That’s what I hate about it the most.”_

_Wilbur swallows. “No leaving Tommy,” he reminds him, bitter and soft all in one breath._

_“No leaving Tommy,” Techno murmurs in response.)_

Eurydice, taking on the image of a familiar snake, coils around Wilbur’s shoulders like a ghost of Morgana, Schlatt’s daemon. Wilbur chokes back a frustrated sob, one hand coming up to rest against her pitch black scales.

“Don’t do that,” he mumbles, but he’s clinging right back and if he closes his eyes, he can pretend he’s with Schlatt right now, or even with Sally, since she accompanies them so often.

The three of them, their daemons share forms so often it’s almost like they’re one person, so tightly entwined in each other’s lives. Wilbur decides to blame the fact that he’s shaking on the cold. He misses them, so strongly it hurts. Eurydice hums, doing her best to be soothing. She nudges his guitar into his lap. Carefully, like it might shatter at any moment, Wilbur picks it up, and begins to play.

Ice-cold fingers struggle to pick at the strings of his guitar, the wind chilling him down to the bone and making his fingers go numb. But he plucks away regardless, taking it slow as he draws out a soft tune. He thinks it could be an anthem, if he found something to apply it to. He thinks it just sounds sad, almost mournful, without a purpose.

It’s a low, lilting, almost haunting sound, drifting across the rooftop. It reminds him of Phil, of Techno, even of Tommy, at his lowest points. It’s something akin to a tragedy.

It’s something akin to the beginnings of the saddest sort of melody.

Wilbur pushes the notes to the back of his mind. It’s a symphony that will have to go unfinished, for now. He’ll work on it when he isn’t so fucking miserable.

For now, he strums old, familiar tunes under the stars, he and Eurydice both wishing for something more.

_(Just a few more years, and they’ll get it.)_


	2. Verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before battle.
> 
> tws for this chapter: n/a

“You’ve got that look on your face,” Clementine says, all sharp and rude, “that says you’re thinkin’ about sad shit.”

The terrier sits rather politely next to Tommy, sprawled out on the ground beside them. Wilbur’s frown only deepens at the daemon’s rather harsh interjection. Eurydice snorts, settling beside her, and Clementine rests her chin on the red fox’s back.

“I wasn’t gonna say it,” Tommy says, flatly, and Eurydice laughs.

Wilbur does not. He reaches out and scratches behind Clementine’s ear, the terrier leaning her head into the touch and a rumbling, contented hum rising in Tommy’s chest. It’s such a familiar scene that if Wilbur closed his eyes, he could picture the four of them back in the halls of the palace, nestled in the blankets on Wilbur’s bed, daemons nestled up against each other and Tommy in Wilbur’s arms after a nightmare or a fight, Wilbur soothing him with songs and stories or the simple comfort of being there.

Instead, they’re under the warm, summery night sky of the Dream SMP, sitting a ways away from the campfire that Niki, Eret, Tubbo, and Fundy are huddled around, Niki and Tubbo regaling Fundy with stories of her adventures on the sea.

It reminds him of Sally. The mere thought makes his chest ache, and he looks back down at his brother, pushing those thoughts from his mind.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles. Clementine headbutts his hand.

“No you’re not,” Tommy says, sitting up, pointing at him accusingly. “You’re acting the way you did when Schlatt left. Moping around--”

“I am not _moping,_ ” Wilbur starts, but Tommy holds up a hand.

“You’re moping around,” he says, blunt as ever, “and gettin’ all… fuckin’, you’re getting hung up on shit that you need to put behind you.”

Wilbur scowls, but knows that Tommy is right, ultimately. Brooding will not bring Sally back, and it will not win them the war. He reaches out, taking hold of Tommy’s arm and tugging him closer. He goes with minimal complaint, grumbling as he repositions himself and nestles in beside him. Wilbur drapes an arm around his shoulders, sighing through his nose.

“Some fucking mess we’ve gotten into, huh?” He says, softly, gazing out at the little nation they’ve built for themselves.

“I’d say it’s a pretty good one,” Tommy replies, leaning his head against Wilbur’s shoulder. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Christ, tomorrow. Tomorrow is the first day of actual fighting. Dream promised them that, promised them a battle, a war. Tomorrow, Wilbur is going to watch their little ragtag battalion be beaten and bloodied by Dream and his soldiers and their gear. Sure, L’manberg has an advantage in numbers, but Dream and his group have more equipment, he’s sure, and more experience in war. Wilbur’s good with the guitar, with the strings of song and salvation. With the strings of a bow, not quite. He’s been practicing, sure, but he can’t be sure it’s enough--not against Dream.

His hand curls around the smooth wood of the bow as he considers their future. One nail trails along the name etched into the side-- _Chekhov’s Gun,_ because of course he had--and he sighs, leaning his head against Tommy’s.

“Just promise me you won’t let yourself get killed,” he finally says.

Tommy snorts. “I don’t think I can control that, Wilbur.”

“Sure you can,” he says, reaching over to swat at Tommy’s head, “if you think you’re outmatched, run away. That simple, really. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’m never stupid,” Tommy protests, but they both know he’ll listen. He always does, and isn’t that what Wilbur treasures most about him?

Not that he listens, though that is part of it. More that he cares, that he puts value into what Wilbur has to say. He’s thankful for that. Tommy and Clementine both are awfully fond of him, and Wilbur can’t help the swell of pride in his chest as he brushes back the daemon’s fur. He’s one of few that she lets touch her, she barely even lets other daemons come into contact. _Clingy, though,_ part of him thinks as she nuzzles closer, _the both of them._

They sit there for a little while longer, and Wilbur watches the four around the fire, Niki and Tubbo still going on about some grand adventure they’d been on. Fundy is mostly asleep in Eret’s lap, and Wilbur is half tempted to go over and scoop up his son to put him to bed.

The soft, rumbling snore coming from beside him forces him to stay put for a little longer, though. He doesn’t have to get up, anyways, as Niki and Tubbo eventually head to their respective tents. Eret makes her way over to Wilbur, cradling the now-sleeping Fundy in her arms as she settles beside him. Wilbur smiles at him, softly.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Eret murmurs, gently propping Fundy against Wilbur’s chest. He takes his son into his arms like he’s always meant to hold him this way, the two of them fitting together like puzzle pieces.

_(It’s the same feeling every time, since the day he first picked him up. Fundy feels like home, here in his arms, he always has. Wilbur never plans on letting go.)_

Stroking the hair back from his forehead, he hums--a low note in the back of his throat. “As I’ll ever be.”

Eret smiles, a bit sad, settling beside him on the ground. Fundy and Tommy both snore, quietly, their daemons nestling together beside Eurydice, who watches Wilbur and Eret in silence. Eret’s own daemon, Lear, watches from where he sits at the treeline, having been keeping watch for the last hour or so. He’s a large brown bear, sturdy and quite frankly, very intimidating. Wilbur is glad to be on Eret’s good side.

“Do you think this will all work out?” Eret asks, after a few moments of quiet. “L’manberg, I mean. All of it.”

Wilbur gazes at Eret for a few seconds, before his gaze drifts down to Fundy. Fundy, whose life has been turbulence and chaos for as long as he can remember. Fundy, whose first few years were spent on a ship, knowing no stability or order, whose mother has left and whose father is left fighting every day just to survive. Fundy, who, against all odds, has lived to see tomorrow.

“It has to,” Wilbur says, in lieu of an answer.

Thinking of a future for his son, however, it is an answer enough. Eret hums, thoughtfully. Wilbur can’t quite read his expression in the dim firelight.

“Eret?”

“Hm?”

Wilbur swallows. “If things go wrong tomorrow, or… or at any point, um. Take care of them for me, will you? All of them--Tommy, Fundy, Tubbo, Niki…”

The quiet that falls over the two of them is almost suffocating. But he sees Eret nod, carefully. “ _If_ things go wrong.”

Wilbur doesn’t want to think about the possibility. It frightens him, the idea that everything they’re working for will be for nothing, that everything will go wrong--that they might _lose._ This has to work. All of it does, or else what will become of them all?

“You should get some rest,” Wilbur murmurs, still stroking Fundy’s hair. “I’ll stay up a bit later to keep watch.”

Eret stares at Wilbur for a few long moments, but nods. “Alright. Wake me up if you need a break?”

Wilbur nods in return. “Will do. Can you help me get these two tucked in?”

That earns a quiet laugh. Eret grins, getting to his feet. “Of course.”

Tommy looks so peaceful, he hates to disturb him. He can’t recall the last time he saw Tommy sleep, actually, but hopefully getting him into a _bed_ will do him some good. Wilbur reaches over to gently shake him awake, earning sleepy, grumbled curses and Clementine lazily snapping at his hand. He shakes him a little harder, and Tommy sighs, slowly sitting up. Clementine buries her face in Tommy’s chest, and he gathers her up into his arms.

“What?” He stares at Wilbur, expression glazed over with exhaustion.

“Just want to get you into a bed, man,” Eret says, nudging Tommy to his feet. The kid swears, but it all kind of slurs together. Wilbur snorts, at that.

“I was gonna keep watch,” Tommy argues, seeming to come back to himself a bit.

“ _You_ are going to go to bed,” Wilbur says, fixing him with a stern look. “You’ve been up the past two nights already.”

“You wouldn’t know that unless you were also up,” Tommy says, but Wilbur shakes his head.

“Go to bed, Tommy. That’s an order from your commander.” He adjusts his hold on Fundy, who snores, softly as he’s jostled a bit.

Tommy sighs, but trails after Eret regardless, not bothering to put up a fight. Wilbur doesn’t think he has the energy to put up with an argument right now, so thank the gods for that. Eret sends Tommy off to Tubbo’s tent, then salutes Wilbur as he makes his way back to his own. Wilbur gives a little salute back, before returning his attention to the boy in his arms.

“We’re doing the right thing,” Eurydice says, quietly, curled around Persephone.

“I never said we weren’t,” Wilbur replies, just as quiet.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Wil,” she says, firmly, and Wilbur takes a deep breath.

“Right. Let’s get these two to bed.” He gets to his feet, and Eurydice gently picks Persephone up by the scruff of her neck.

The two of them trot across the camp in silence, ducking into the van. It’s the safest place for any of them to sleep, so it’s reserved for Fundy and anyone who may be wounded. Wilbur sets Fundy down gently in the bed in the back, brushing the hair back from his face as he does so.

He doesn’t want him to be involved in the fighting tomorrow. Sure, he’s fairly mature and capable by shapeshifter standards, but by _human_ standards, he’s barely older than ten. Wilbur doesn’t give a damn if Sally got into her first fight at age six, or if Techno spilled blood for the first time at age four--Fundy is too young for all of this. Hell, he’s not even as mature as Tommy is. And he almost didn’t let Tommy and Tubbo fight, either. Desperation has forced his hand, with those kids.

It’s all so fucked up. But it’s a fight that has to be won. He can’t let Fundy grow up in a world with Dream as its ruler.

_(He ignores how so much of this grievance is **personal.** How much of it is about freedom, really? He aches for vengeance, at the end of the day, and that will forever be more important than the freedom.)_

Wilbur takes a deep breath. He has to be ready for tomorrow.

He presses a kiss to Fundy’s forehead, and goes to keep watch for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tysm for reading!! follow me over @ cacowhistle on tumblr & twitter for more updates and more content--i post stuff i don't think is worthy of ao3 on tumblr pretty consistently. i also stream over on twitch if that interests you at all, feel free to come bother me and talk to me about my fics while i stream!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! subscribe to get notified of updates and/or follow me on tumblr/twitter @ cacowhistle for more frequent and in-depth updates on fic progress! also i have a twitch (cacowhistle) so if you're into that sort of thing go check that out as well!!


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